The Truth by Jane Lark ~ a free book exclusive to my blog ~ part twenty-nine

The Truth

© Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark,

this should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 , 19, 20,21,22,23,24, 25, 26, 27, 28

Richard

Emma’s stoic resolve was disturbing, after the outpouring of emotion she’d shown the other day her silent acceptance had a sense of the absurd. But there was nothing he could do beyond comply to her request. “Use the day cabin, Miss Martin, I shall ask my men to give you space.”

And in the meantime he would consider what must be done now.

“Mark,” he said, turning, “help Miss Martin find what she needs to write a letter in the day cabin and have the maid accompany her. Then join me on the poop-deck.”

It was on the poop-deck, above where Emma wrote her morbid letter, that he Joseph and Philip decided her fate. Catherine had asked him to take Emma to her family, he would continue on to England and do so. But they all agreed Charles Martin ought be told as soon as possible and therefore they would dock in Gibraltar and leave Catherine’s letter and the letter Emma was writing now, to be passed on to a ship returning to Calcutta, and he would send a man with them to ensure they reached Charles.

Richard also decided to write a letter to Emma’s family in England and pass it on, along with Catherine’s letter, to be sent ahead of them on a smaller faster boat. In the hope her family would receive some notice of Emma’s arrival and the change in her circumstances. It would reduce the risk to her reputation, too, if he was seen to do all he could.

Emma dined with them later, her maid sitting to one side of the room as she’d done while Emma’s mother was ill but, as at luncheon, Emma hardly ate.

“Miss Martin,” he said, when their second course was served. “We will be docking in Gibraltar. It is less than a week away. We will be able to find a ship there which will take the letters to your father.”

“Letters?” Her expression looked suddenly arrested.

“Yes.” Duncan took over the conversation, in the conciliatory tone he saved for distressed patients. “Your mother left letters for your father, your family in England and yourself.”

A frown creased Emma’s pretty brow, touching the the scar that she’d acquired in the storms at the cape, questioning Duncan’s statement. “Why? How did she leave letters?”

“Would you like yours after you have eaten?” Richard interjected. “I am sure you would prefer to read it alone.” She ignored him, staring at Duncan with a look of shock and disbelief.

“Forgive me, I do not understand. What letters? Why would she have written a letter to me, Dr Steel?”

“Your mother knew she was dying, Miss Martin––,” Duncan began. He got no farther. Emma recoiled as though she’d been struck.

Duncan lifted his hand to silence the sound of Emma’s dismay. “Your mother knew she was ill when she boarded, Miss Martin, she did not realise how ill, I believe, until afterwards.”

Emma’s gaze fell to the food she’d left untouched, and she gently put down her knife and fork, together, in a gesture that said she had finished eating. Then she looked up and stared at them all, her gaze passing about the table; he guessed that she looked for who had known. But her control scared him; it was like the moments in the eye of a storm when the wind died entirely.

Emma looked back up at Duncan as her hands dropped into her lap. “When did you know this, Dr Steel?”

“When I spoke to her a few days after she was first sick. She had a lump in her breast and she knew whatever had caused the tumour was spreading.”

“You knew that, and yet, when I asked you what was wrong again and again, you did not tell me?” The frown was back, a thin line between her brows which fanned outward.

“Your mother asked me not to. There was no certainty how fast or slowly the illness would take her.”

“Except that had I known, I would have had a chance to say goodbye. You took that away.” It was not an outburst, but it was an accusation that silenced the rest of them. “On every occasion I have sat here and asked what was wrong, what could be done, you knew the answer and did not speak. Do not fret you said; when you knew she was dying. She was dying and you did not tell me the truth!” The last was shouted, as she stood up, thrusting her napkin down on the table as she looked scornfully at Duncan.

They had all stopped eating, and now they all let their cutlery lie and stood too.

Her gaze spun about each of his men as though she looked for who should bear the guilt as much as Duncan. Then she focused back on Duncan.

Duncan tried to answer her accusations, “You could have done nothing if you had known, Miss Martin.”

“I could have said goodbye!” she repeated. “I could have given her comfort and support instead of hounding her to eat!” She spoke more quietly as she turned away from the table, as if it was for herself, “I could have become accustomed to it.” She glanced back, suddenly, her gaze darting about them again. “I’m sorry. I am not good company tonight. I am retiring. Rita.”

“The devil be damned,” Richard whispered as the door shut behind her, Mark had not even moved to follow and walk her across the deck. They were all too stunned. “Hell” He said more audibly, before turning away from the table. More curses ran through his head as he found out her letter from a drawer, then he turned and held it out to Mark. “Take this to her, she should have it now.”

Emma had needed all the support they could give her to endure this. Now she would not trust any of them.

When Mark left, Richard retook his seat, as the others did, but no one spoke.

To be continued…

To read the Marlow Intrigues series, you can start anywhere, but the actual order is listed below ~ and click like to follow my Facebook Page not to miss anything…

The Marlow Intrigues

The Lost Love of Soldier ~ The Prequel #1 ~ A Christmas Elopement began it all

The Illicit Love of a Courtesan #2

Capturing The Love of an Earl ~ A Free Novella #2.5

The Passionate Love of a Rake #3

The Desperate Love of a Lord ~ A second Free Novella #3.5

The Scandalous Love of a Duke #4

The Dangerous Love of a Rogue #5

The Jealous Love of a Scoundrel #5.5

The Persuasive Love of a Libertine #5.75 now included in Jealous Love, (or free if you can persuade Amazon to price match with Kobo ebooks) 😉

The Secret Love of a Gentleman #6

The Reckless Love of an Heir #7

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the story of the real courtesan who inspired The Illicit Love of a Courtesan,
another free short story, about characters from book #2, A Lord’s Scandalous Love,
the prequel excerpts for book #3 The Scandalous Love of a Duke

Jane Lark is a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional Historical and New Adult Romance stories, and the author of a No.1 bestselling Historical Romance novel in America, ‘The Illicit Love of a Courtesan’.Click here to find out more about Jane’s books, and see Jane’s website www.janelark.co.uk to learn more about Jane. Or click ‘like’ on Jane’s Facebook page to see photo’s and learn historical facts from the Georgian, Regency and Victorian eras, which Jane publishes there. You can also follow Jane on twitter at @janelark

The Truth by Jane Lark ~ a free book exclusive to my blog ~ part twenty-seven

The Truth

© Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark,

this should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 , 19, 20, 21,22,23,24, 25, 26

Richard

Catherine’s ill-luck remained until the end––she was not given a swift death. She had survived for three more days, living but not living, her breathing and her heart gradually becoming weaker and weaker. Emma suffered with her, Duncan described each night how she was sitting beside her mother in silence, whispering comforting words or reading aloud, always holding her mother’s hand.

It caused a strange becalmed atmosphere to fall over the ship. Richard’s entire crew became quieter, their conversations hushed and their enthusiasm dulled. In the evening his senior crew ate without conversation, none of them knowing what to say and all of them feeling Emma Martin’s pain emanating from the cabin on the other side of the wooden paneling. Even the wind had died leaving the ship hobbling along and Joseph seeking any small breeze to capture in the sails.

It was probably the strangest period of Richard’s life––to feel so much for Emma and to be able to do so little. He could not protect her from this. He could not even openly comfort her as he wished. In fact he had withdrawn from her once more. If he could not protect her from this pain, he could protect her reputation. Her only security from ruin was now one maid. If London society heard any rumour of indiscretion on his ship she would be cut before she even met her family. A family whom she’d never known and would now have to rely upon to support her until her father could come and take her home. Any thought of marriage now must surely be forgotten… Emma would be in deep mourning.

He had not even stepped inside the women’s cabin since the first morning of Catherine’s final days, when he’d held Emma. Now he deliberately distanced himself so she would not turn to him for physical comfort. She in turn was refusing verbal comfort. When he saw her on the deck, if she stepped out for a moment to request something, or breathe some fresher air, when he asked how she faired, her answers were single syllables. She spoke to no one unless it was necessary. Then she would disappear again. She was enduring this; breathing, sleeping and eating, but she was no more alive than her mother.

On the fourth morning, there was a knock on Richard’s door. It was Duncan. Richard was busy shaving, leaning over a bowl of water. “Come in!” he shouted so Duncan would hear.

“She has passed,” Duncan said.

The razor hovered beside Richard’s throat. She’s passed––a light––a life––a soul, snuffed out, just like that––Catherine was gone.

“Thank you for telling me,” Richard answered, turning back to face himself in the mirror. Richard Farrow, all powerful, all mighty, but his money nor his power, not even his status, could control fate and do anything to change this.

He did not curse Catherine for making this journey anymore. If she had not, he would never have known Emma as he did now. He would not have fallen in love with her. He would be groundless still, greedy. He was not now. He cared nothing for things. He cared for Emma. She was the foundation he wanted to build the next stage of his life upon, but now he would have to be very patient, sensible and sympathetic of her loss.

He was hollow inside as he finished his ablutions and dressed, then headed for the women’s cabin. No words were in his head, only silence. What could he say to give Emma comfort? There was no comfort.

Mark stood holding the cabin door open. Duncan was within. Like himself, Duncan would not risk Emma’s reputation, hence why Mark waited at the open door. The maid was outside kneeling on the deck wailing. It was customary in India to make such a noise to show your grief, his crew had given her the space to grieve as she wished.

Emma knelt inside, silent, beside her mother’s body, head bowed in prayer, her fingers clasped together, while Duncan watched; grieving in the western way.

God’s teeth, what prepared a man to deal with moments like this? Nothing. Richard lifted his eyebrows, meeting Duncan’s gaze, asking if he should intervene. But then Emma lifted her head and looked back. “Mr Farrow…” Her voice merely acknowledged him, there was no hint of emotion within it.

He did not step into the room but stayed at the open door, taking the door’s weight from Mark’s hand, so that he could step away. “Miss Martin.” No words to follow her name came, no words would suffice, words would not explain the depth of his feeling for her or how much his heart ached for her. “I’m sorry.” Another silence, but nothing more came, and so he said, “you realise we will have to bury your mother at sea? We cannot keep the body onboard because of the risk of disease. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Emma stood, she had become the stiff well-bred young woman who had arrived on his ship. The woman he had seen in Calcutta, assumed shallow, and mostly ignored. “I understand,” was all she said. There were no tears––there was no outburst––no sign of grief––just acceptance. He wanted to go to her and hold her and tell her all would be well, that he loved her and would protect her. That he would take her home to her father. But he would not. She would have to marry him then, and he would not force her hand while she was grieving, it would be wrong.

As there was nothing more he could say, he said nothing more and turned away leaving her with Duncan.